


All in the Family

by AnnatheBooks



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 14:55:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11831076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnatheBooks/pseuds/AnnatheBooks
Summary: What happened to the Dursleys after Harry turned 17?  A brief encounter, and some background.





	All in the Family

Once Harry Potter finished his NEWTS, a year later than usual along with Ron Weasley and Hermione Grainger, his life settled down to a more even keel. He made his home at Grimmauld Place, although he spent more of his free time at the Burrow than anywhere else. It meant a great deal to him to know that he would always be welcome there, in the only family he’d ever truly felt a part of. He could barely remember his parents, and his aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon had hardly made him feel like family.

Harry’s Auror training took up the next few years of his life, and gave him little time for frivolous thinking, so he was in his early 20s before he thought it time to track down his Muggle relatives. He knew that a division of the Department of Muggle Relations at the Ministry of Magic kept records of all Muggle families connected to the wizarding world, so this was his first – and, as it happened, last – port of call. It turned out that any family member of The Boy Who Lived was considered a very important entry in the records. Harry discovered that his aunt, uncle and cousin had been relocated to Ireland shortly after he turned 17. Dudley had gone to an international school near Cork, where he had completed his ‘A’ Levels, and was now, of all things, an accountant!

Petunia and Vernon had struggled in Ireland, for Vernon was, at heart, a born Englishman, who distrusted even the other nations in his own United Kingdom, and thought anyone from beyond British shores was out to rob, cheat or humiliate him. Even in the relatively Anglo-Saxon enclave of their West Cork village he chafed at his surroundings until eventually Petunia stopped chivvying him to come to the shops with her and left him at home with a computer and his own ISDN line so he could link to the internet and join some ex-pat chat groups. 

Dudley went to boarding school for his final year. His mother fretted that he would be lonely, and indeed he was. For about a week. Away from the influence of his almost demonically repressed parents, Dudley blossomed, as it were. With the maturity that had been growing in him ever since he’d first realised how much danger Harry was going into on the eve of his 17th birthday, Dudley settled down and began to work hard. He found that he had an aptitude for numbers, and balance sheets, and while he still pursued boxing for exercise purposes, he began to dream of making a career for himself, and not just following his father into selling tool bits. 

The magical authorities felt it best to keep the Dursleys safe for a year or two after the Battle of Hogwarts, and so Dudley was 19 when the notice came that he and his parents could return to England. The house in Little Whingeing was no more: it had been burned to the ground the night that Harry turned 17. Petunia learned of this around six months after it happened, when a hefty insurance cheque arrived. She was unsure of how she should feel about the utter destruction of her neat little house. She supposed it had been home and therefore she should miss it, but she could not bring herself to mourn it very much. Certainly not as much as Vernon, who ranted so often about “that malevolent little brat of your sister’s” that Petunia was eventually stung to retaliation. Once was enough, and Vernon never spoke a cross word to her again. For all she had done was to point at him and shout “Be quiet!” and a flash had burst from her fingertip and Vernon had been mute for three days. Petunia broke down and finally wept for her sister, nearly 17 years dead. She cried for the lost years, the lost chances, the lonely boy whom she’d never been able to love because he reminded her, every time he looked at her, of Lily. She had written in secret to the Headmaster of Hogwarts long ago, begging for a place at his school, but had been turned down, she now realised, in the gentlest way possible. So now she wept as well for the first burst of magic from herself, thirty years too late.

This being the year that it was, no-one from the Ministry visited her to reprimand her for the use of unlicensed magic. The Irish Ministry of Magic sent a low-grade witch to assess whether she was a danger to the people, but on seeing the remoteness of the cottage that had been found for the Dursleys, restricted herself to warning Petunia about the perils of alerting [i]You Know Who[/i] to her whereabouts.

When the bittern arrived with a letter from the British Ministry, inviting the Dursleys to return to England, Vernon was packed and ready to go within the day. Petunia found she was more reluctant. She had grown to love the bleak, harsh surroundings of their cottage in West Cork, not to mention the delightful little ex-pat community of the nearby town. She could see what had brought them here: this place was unlike anywhere she’d been in England, and the people, both native and incomer, had made her and Vernon more welcome than they really deserved. As quickly as Vernon had packed his bags she had made a decision: the house they lived in had been given to them by the Ministry, so it belonged to them outright. Instead of selling it, they would rent it out, and Petunia would always have an escape route, should she need it in the years to come. 

So the Dursleys came back to their own country, finding it little changed in the years they had been away. Vernon’s job at Grunnings was long gone, but he had good enough contacts in the field to be able to find a post at a similar firm, and soon settled back into the way of life he had enjoyed before the upheaval. Of course, they had to move house, since Surrey was no longer within their financial reach, but all in all, Vernon found he was just as happy in Swindon, and there was even a little garden for Petunia to devote herself to, he thought fondly. Against all expectations, Dudley got a place at Exeter University and his mother waved him goodbye with rather more equanimity than his father did.

“Bloody university – what is he, a bloody poof? I didn’t go to university and look at me! It did me no harm, going out and getting a job straight out of school. What use will a degree be to him?” Petunia had only to look at him, however, and he subsided. He had work the next day and he couldn’t very well go into the office mute as a fish, now could he?

Of course, none of this was recorded in the Dursleys’ file at the Ministry. There was a terse reference to “instance of magical use” which made Harry wonder, but nothing in the record to show the loneliness, fretfulness, gradual unwinding and eventual contentment that Petunia Dursley at least had experienced. Of Dudley, the record merely noted that he had gone to a Muggle school in Ireland, and to university in England; his course title was listed, along with his expected graduation date. With this, Harry had to be content. He wasn’t sure whether he should contact them, but after giving the matter some thought decided not to. He could be sure the welcome he would receive from them would be frosty, and he’d never really thought of them as his family anyway. However, he took note of Dudley’s details and when the graduation results were issued he sent his cousin a card congratulating him on his degree. He included his address with the card, but didn’t expect to hear anything from Dudley in return.

The years went by and Harry became an Auror, married Ginny Weasley, had three children with her and was happy. Being immersed in the wizarding world, as he was, Harry became less and less connected to the Muggle world where he’d grown up. He rose through the Auror ranks, and his children went in their turn to Hogwarts. James was in Gryfindor, Albus in Ravenclaw and Lily in Slytherin. In fact our story proper begins on the last day of term, when the Hogwarts Express glided to a stop at Platform 9 3/4 at King’s Cross. Harry and Ginny were on collection duty for a group of parents that day, and six children swarmed around them as they came through the barrier to the main station concourse. Over the hullabaloo that only children who have just started school holidays can make, Harry heard someone calling his name. He looked around, and saw a tall, well-built man with fair hair, in a suit so sharp it could cut you, making his way across the station towards them. Harry blinked as recognition came to him. Ye Gods, he thought, is this really - 

“Dudley?” he asked, stupefied.

“I thought you’d be here if you had kids of your own. I wasn’t sure of the exact date they broke up for holidays so I’ve been coming down for the last few days,” Dudley said. He looked at the children standing behind Harry. James and Hugh were talking to Ginny about Quidditch, Rose and Albus were talking to each other about school, but Lily and Scorpius were watching Dudley and Harry with interest.

“Are all these yours?” asked Dudley.

“No, only three of them,” replied Harry shortly. “Dudley, it’s been over twenty years. What are you doing here?”

Dudley looked embarrassed, and cleared his throat twice before speaking again.

“The thing is, Harry, I need your help. My daughter turned eleven two weeks ago and she got an owl. She’s got a place at your school. What am I going to do?”

Stunned, Harry’s first impulse was to laugh in Dudley’s face, but he saw that his cousin was truly worried. He reasoned that it must have taken a great effort for Dudley to seek him out. After all, although they’d grown up together they were about as far away from “friends” as you could get, and Dudley had been raised to loathe and fear his cousin and all that Harry represented. So, stifling the urge to say, “Sorry mate, you’re on your own”, he stuck out his hand to shake his cousin’s, and said briskly, “Well, that’s good news if she’s got any magic in her. She’d never settle in a muggle school.” He turned to his wife. “Ginny, can you take the kids home? I think Dudley and I might be a while. I’ll Floo home from the Ministry.” Ginny nodded, said “See you soon, Dudley” and bustled the children away.

Turning back to Dudley, Harry took his arm and guided him to the station exit, where he paused for a moment before hailing a cab, saying, “We might as well dive in”, and ordering the driver to take them to Oxford Street. Once the cab was moving, he turned to Dudley, scrutinising the face that had scowled at him for ten years solid before Harry had been given his own reprieve of a place at Hogwarts. Dudley stared back at him, clearly worried and unsure of how his cousin would respond. Before he could speak, Harry said, “Let’s wait until we’re having a coffee to talk about it. How are you? What are you doing these days?”

Dudley slumped a little with relief. Harry seemed to be taking it in his stride so perhaps things weren’t so bad after all. 

“Well, I’m an accountant. I have a firm in the City, doing forensic work. We track down where people are hiding their funds, basically, and wheel them in if they’re in breach of the law. It’s a good job, and I like it,” he said defensively, seeing the frown on Harry’s face. “I like numbers, and figuring things out, and, er, making sure things are done right,” he finished lamely.

Harry was surprised, but only for a moment. He’d known Dudley had studied Accountancy, and if he thought about it, it made sense that Petunia’s obsession with law and order should rub off onto her son. So he nodded and said, “Sounds interesting. In fact, one of my friends works for our bank in a similar capacity, tracking down gold that hasn’t been declared.” Dudley looked interested; perhaps Harry’s world wasn’t so weird after all.

“I got married,” he said. “Well, obviously, if I’ve got a daughter! I know it’s the twenty-first century, but we don’t do children-out-of-wedlock in the Dursley family!” he chuckled. “Not that I mind. My wife is. . .” he paused, and a look of wonder came over his face. “Well, she’s wonderful. Amazing. I’m so lucky that Loveday takes after her more than me! She’s Cornish, her name’s Aster – you can imagine how thrilled mum was when I brought home a girl named after a flower! I suppose her being from the landed gentry helped a bit as well,” he laughed drily. Harry didn’t know how to respond. This was a Dudley he’d never known before, so he silently cast a decloaking spell, just to check that it wasn’t someone in disguise. But no, it was the real deal. This was his cousin Dudley sitting next to him in a black cab, bursting to ask Harry about Hogwarts, and witchcraft, and whether his (clearly adored) daughter would be ok there. More to the point, this was a Dudley who’d persuaded a woman to marry him – what on earth had happened in the last two decades?!

“Loveday is a nice name,” he said, for want of anything better.

Dudley nodded. “Yes, it’s Cornish, like Aster. Aster’s maiden name was Tregowan. I sometimes think I should have taken her name, it’s so much nicer than Dursley, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She’s very old-fashioned, in some ways.”

At this point the taxi drew up at the corner of Tottenham Court Road and Oxford Street. Centre Point loomed over them as Harry paid the fare, and the two men got out. Harry led the way to a disreputable-looking pub down a side street, and before long they were in a quiet corner of The Leaky Cauldron, and Dudley could finally talk about the momentous discovery that his daughter was a witch.

“Aster wasn’t as shocked as I was, to be honest. You see she’s a – well, she doesn’t work outside the home so she’s raised Loveday, really. I work a lot from home myself, but I wouldn’t be with her as much as her mum is so I never really saw much. There was one time though. . . Do you remember that time the snakes got out at the Zoo?”

Harry remembered. It was just before his own letter had come. He nodded, but said nothing.

“Well,” continued Dudley, “Loveday has this thing about snakes. She keeps them as pets, and [i]I swear[/i] she can talk to them!”

Now [i]that[/i] stunned Harry! He wondered if it meant that Parseltongue actually ran in the Evans family, or if it only came from Aster. He was fairly certain she was going to turn out to have wizarding blood in her, however many generations back. He made a mental note to look her up at the Ministry as soon as he got the chance.

“Right, well, that is a sign of magic, right enough,” he said. “Er, in fact, I can talk to snakes myself. That, er, that’s why they all up and left the Zoo, that time.”

Dudley nodded. “Yeah, I guessed years after, when I thought about it. Anyway,” he was clearly more interested in talking about his beloved daughter than his estranged cousin, “anyway, Aster finally told me there’d been a few weird things happening, like one of Loveday’s classmates floating into the air one day, and things like firecrackers flying out of her fingers any time she got upset. Weird things, you know? So we were thinking about getting her looked at by a child psychologist when the owl turned up, the morning of her birthday.”

He looked at Harry, tired and defeated.

“Turns out there’s more magic in the family than just you and Aunt Lily.”

Harry was touched by how Dudley referred to his mother. “It stands to reason, I suppose,” he smiled. “Did anyone ever visit you about it?”

Dudley shook his head. “No, we just thought it was a poltergeist, or something. Although I did wonder about you, but you got told off any time you used magic at home, didn’t you? So we figured that since no-one came along to give out to Loveday about it that it must be something else.”

“What does your mother think of it all?” asked Harry.

“Mother didn’t take it as badly as I’d expected. Of course, we haven’t told Dad yet; he’d probably have a stroke if he knew his only grand-daughter was a witch! But Mum’s mellowed a lot, you know. I think it was the two years in Ireland that did it. Not to mention having Dad underfoot all the time. I did my homework, you know,” he looked directly at Harry. “I know your lot looked after us financially in some way, so we were able to live quite comfortably over in Ireland. It’s unlikely Dad will ever say it to you, but thank you. You didn’t need to do anything for us, not after the way we treated you. It can’t have been easy for you, helping people who hated you so much.”

Harry was embarrassed. He had never really thought very much about his mother’s family after he’d left Privet Drive for the last time, apart from his brief research in the archives at Muggle Relations. He supposed the impetus to look after the Dursleys had come from the Ministry itself. He would have to look into it.

Clearing his throat he tried to explain all this to Dudley, but found himself tripping over his words. How could he tell this amiable man that he, Harry, couldn’t have cared less if Voldemort himself had wiped out the Dursleys in 1997? He shook his head and said, “It’s not as big a deal as you think, Dudley.”

Dudley shrugged. “Well, it was a big deal to us. I think it probably helped to put me right, at any rate. I was just plodding along at school, you know, and I’d probably have plodded into some boring job afterwards, because it’s unlikely I’d have come out with much in the way of A Levels. But I went to a boarding school there and, I don’t know, something clicked into place and I suddenly found I had a head for figures.”

“That might be your own brand of wizard powers,” interjected Harry, half-jokingly.

Dudley looked thoughtful, then laughed. “Yeah, maybe it is! Anyway, we moved back to England in 2000. I wanted to look for you, but Mum thought it best to leave well alone. Dad, you see. . .” he tailed off.

Parking the notion that his aunt might actually have been interested in his life for another day’s discussion, Harry made a vague noise of assent and decided it was time he heard about his cousin’s daughter a bit more.

Dudley needed no great encouragement, and as he talked, Harry noticed how his face lit up as he described the little girl’s prettiness, her lively wit and cleverness. And her magic, of course.

“We thought we were just really lucky with having such a tidy child, you know? Her room is always so neat and her toys are put away when she’s finished with them. And then one day I came home from work a bit early and I caught her flinging everything around.”

Harry looked a question.

“She was just pointing at things and they were, well, levitating to where she sent them! I didn’t say anything, either to her or Aster, but I couldn’t get it out of my head, you know? And then last week the owl flew in the window and, well, I knew then. . .”

His voice tailed away, and he looked rather miserable, Harry thought. He sought to reassure Dudley.

“She’ll be happier at Hogwarts than a comprehensive, believe me. I suppose you have a list of what she has to get?” Dudley nodded and opened his briefcase, from which he extracted a sheet covered in the text that was so familiar to Harry. He cast an eye over it and said, “Well, I can help you with all of this, assuming you’re going to let her go – are you?” He looked at Dudley.

“We have no choice, do we?” said Dudley. “She won’t stop talking to snakes, or levitating toys if we send her to the local secondary school, and she’d probably only get bullied there...” He stared at the table, mindful of how bullied another unusual child had been thirty years before. A silence fell between them, until at length he looked up and smiled at Harry.

We haven’t the foggiest idea of what to do,” he said. “Would you really be ok with helping us?”

Harry laughed.

“Sure thing, big D!” he said, then stopped as Dudley’s face changed.

“Sorry,” Harry said, “was that a bit flippant? Only, it’s how I remember you.”

Dudley shook his head.

“You won’t remember all the chaps in my ‘gang’, but Will Scamble is in prison, doing eight years for armed robbery. Joe Marshall and Fred Peabody are both dead. Drugs, I think. If we hadn’t had to leave that time I’d have ended up the same way. If it hadn’t been for you – god, Harry, I owe you so much and it took me a hell of a long time to realise just how much! And I couldn’t find you for years! Do you have any idea how hard it is to track down someone who, to all intents and purposes, doesn’t exist in the real world?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He wasn’t sure he was all that responsible for Dudley turning his life around, and he was reluctant to take praise he didn’t feel should be his.

“Where are you living?” he asked Dudley. “We’re in London mostly, although my wife will take the children to the West Country for most of the holidays. I work at the Ministry of Magic. And this, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, is a wizard inn, not a normal London pub!”

Dudley looked around, noticing the room properly for the first time.

“It’s quite nice,” he said, wrongfooting Harry yet again. “It reminds me of The Gentlemen’s Inn in the village where Aster grew up. That place always feels like there’s more going on there than anyone realises. I like it.”

He drained his mug of coffee and looked at his watch. 

“Sun’s over the yardarm. Fancy something stronger?”

Harry smiled, and said, “I’ll get the beers in. Your money won’t go far here!”

And they settled down to chat. Harry to had to owl Ginny to tell her he’d be late – very late! - home, and Dudley had his first, but by no means last, Butterbeer. Wisely, Harry put off taking his cousin to Diagon Alley until Aster and Loveday could be there too. After all, it was six weeks to the start of term. And he and Dudley had a lot of catching up to do. . .


End file.
